“How do you think my daughter’s looking?” she asked proudly.
“Don’t tell her,” Mona said quickly. “She takes it as a compliment to herself, not to me. Poor Mummy, she still believes that her ugly duckling has turned into a swan!”
“You were never an ugly duckling,” Mrs. Vale protested. “Although you were my own, I thought you were one of the prettiest babies I’d ever seen.”
“But, Mummy darling,” Mona expostulated. “Don’t you know that every mother thinks her baby is the prettiest in the world?”
“Quite right, too,” Mrs. Vale approved. “I’ve always said that there’s nothing like children for giving one a sense of pride and a thrill of possession. Don’t you agree with me, Dorothy?”
“Indeed I do,” Dorothy Howlett replied.
“You will understand what we mean one day, darling,” Mrs. Vale said complacently.
The door opened as she spoke and the men came in. Mona got to her feet.
“You’ve come just at the right moment,” she cried. “I’m sadly in need of help and support. Not content with wanting to find me a husband, Mummy now wants me to have a baby, and I can’t quite make out which comes first.”
“Really darling,” her mother exclaimed. “How you do twist my words! Don’t listen to her, General, she’s a very naughty girl.”
“But a very pretty one,” the General replied. “I don’t know what treatment they give you for looks in America, but if we could sell it in bottles over here, we’d all make a fortune.”
“What a good idea,” Mona laughed. “You shall be chairman of the company and I will be the managing director.”
“And what part am I to play?” Michael asked.
“Financier, of course,” she said. “I don’t think you’d be useful as anything else, do you?”
She was delighted to notice a glint in Michael’s eyes and know that her shaft had gone home. It amused her to annoy him and she knew that in some ways he was sensitive about his money. He hated references to it and the fact that people, especially his friends, might care for him only because of his generosity.
Mrs. Vale was pulling out the bridge table.
“Now stop talking nonsense, children,” she commanded. “We older people are going to play bridge. Mona, I can’t have you and Michael chattering and disturbing our game. Why don’t you go up to the Long Gallery and roast chestnuts? I told Dixon to bring in some this afternoon.”
“What a lovely idea Mummy,” Mona said demurely.
But when she had left the room with Michael, she burst out laughing.
“Isn’t Mummy divine?” she asked. “Did you ever see anything so obvious? This is what is called ‘letting the young people get to know each other’. Now Michael, the next move is up to you.”
“What do you suggest I do?” Michael asked heavily.
“I’ll tell you,” Mona replied.
They reached the Long Gallery and found the fire burning brightly and a big basket of chestnuts beside it.
“I’m awaiting instructions.”
“Well, you sit in the armchair,” Mona told him, “and I sit gracefully on the rug at your feet. That gives a cosy atmosphere, you see, and while I put the chestnuts in the fire you ask me questions. ‘What do you think about life?’ is a good one, which inevitably leads us, sooner or later, to sex.”
She suited her actions to her words and sank down upon the hearthrug, her skirts billowing out round her so that she looked like a lake of golden light. But Michael was silent, and after a moment she glanced up at him under her eyelashes.
“Well,” she asked, “aren’t you going to begin?”
“I think it is for you to do that,” Michael replied. “They tell me confession is good for the soul’.”
“Confession!” Mona exclaimed. “I’m not likely to confess to you, Michael Merrill, you wouldn’t be a good person to choose. You would be too hard, too set in your ways. You wouldn’t understand the waverings and defects of weak people like me. You’re strong, you stride through life going straight towards your objective.”
“There’s still no reason why I shouldn’t be understanding. Suppose you try me.”
“Confide in you! Not on your life. For one thing, I’d hate to ask you for comfort – I’ve had a taste of your disapproval once.”
“I’ve said I’m sorry for that.”
“What’s the good of words? It’s deeds that count. If you had been sweet to me then, if you’d played the big brother, which was what I wanted, well things might have been different.”
“What things?” Michael asked sharply.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Mona said impatiently. “Perhaps it was all inevitable – everything, including your attitude.”
She turned towards the fire.
“This chestnut’s done. Shall I give it to you?”
“No, thank you, I’m not hungry at the moment.”
“You sound peevish,” Mona teased him. “Poor Michael! I believe you’re really quite annoyed because I won’t tell you the story of my life. One day I’ll put it all in a book and then you will be able to read it and make caustic remarks about my behaviour to your friends.”
“Do you think that’s likely?”
